


Waking Up In Pittsburgh

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-15
Updated: 1999-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex, violence, hotel rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up In Pittsburgh

**Author's Note:**

> Set after "The Red and The Black," but before the movie. Content includes restraint. Warning: Liberties taken with the design of a Pittsburgh bridge. Many, many thanks to Kenna and Marie, who read early drafts and gave me much-needed guidance, and to Gwyneth and Shoshanna, for their help, editing skills, and patience.

It was 102 degrees and the air was thick and muggy. A bright, hazy sun ruled the cloudless sky. Soft, elusive breezes rustled the leaves on the trees, but disappeared before giving any relief from the oppressive heat.

There would be no relief from the smell. Human corpses didn't smell good under the best of conditions, and outside in hundred-plus weather wasn't the best of conditions. Fox Mulder lifted the handkerchief from his nose and mouth to mop the sweat from his brow. He watched Scully walking carefully between the bodies, occasionally bending down to inspect one more closely. She crouched next to a misshapen mass of flesh and bone, prodding at something -- neck? shoulder? -- with her latex-gloved fingers.

Mulder looked up. All around the sunken tennis courts where they stood, a line of people had formed, despite the yellow "Police Line Do Not Cross" tape. Some looked appropriately horrified, or grossed out. Most just looked bewildered. He glanced back at the carnage before him and figured that from where they stood, they couldn't tell what they were looking at. Even up close, it was difficult to discern individual bodies.

His thoughts were interrupted by a woman hurriedly approaching him. "Are you the FBI agent?" she called, as she shouldered through the investigative team. She looked angry, so he didn't respond until she reached him, panting and sweating in her bland business suit.

He flashed his badge at her and waited. She caught her breath and followed his line of sight to the corpses. Scully was gently turning one over. Bits of it fell away in Scully's hands. The woman immediately looked back at Mulder.

"I'm from the president's office. He needs to make a statement to the press. What can I tell him to say?"

Mulder looked up at the perimeter of the courts. "You need to get these people out of here."

"Yes, yes, we're working on that," the woman said quickly. "It's not an easy thing to seal off this part of the campus, you know. Even in summer."

Scully caught Mulder's glance. Mulder turned to the woman and said, "I don't know what your president can tell the press. Now if you'll excuse me..." He walked over to Scully before the woman could protest. He didn't think she would follow, into the mass of corpses. He was right.

Scully wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. "It's as if they all melted together. Some of the body tissue is almost gelatinous, and many of the bones we're finding are soft. You can almost bend them. I don't know what could have caused this. Some kind of acid, perhaps."

Scully paused and watched him, as if expecting him to contradict her. Mulder looked around, but no theories were springing to mind. No tales of supernatural beings or forces, no evidence of extraterrestrial interference. The fact was, he was just too damned tired and hot to think of anything right now.

Scully shook her hair back from her face. "They're bringing some stretchers and tubs so we can take what's left to the forensics lab."

"Kind of brings new meaning to the phrase 'hot enough to fry an egg,' doesn't it?" Mulder murmured as they walked toward the steps. Scully smiled wearily at him.

\-----

Hotel pools sucked. Too small and crowded for laps, too chlorinated to feel refreshing. Mulder stared at it for a while, every cell of his being longing for a swim, then turned and went back to his room. The pool was too depressing. It would be worse than not having a swim at all.

He moved the desk chair in front of the air conditioning unit and sat down, still in his Speedo and hotel robe. The a/c was blasting arctic-cold air at him, but he felt sluggish and stupid. When he closed his eyes, he was back on the tennis courts, under a merciless sun, surrounded by the stench of baking bodies.

This wasn't like the victims the alien rebels had left on Skyland Mountain and in Kazakhstan. Those victims had been cooked, not melted, and their skeletons had been solid and intact. His thoughts got that far, but remembering Kazakhstan brought another thought entirely: Krycek. Mulder shifted, as if he could edge away from the memory his mind kept replaying. Krycek grabbing him. Krycek kissing him.

It was just a chaste little kiss on the cheek. Except nothing about Krycek was chaste. And yet... What had it meant? Krycek didn't do things for no reason, of that Mulder was certain. Mulder should not have cared about Krycek's reasons, but he did.

Krycek was a puzzle. Capable of the blackest deeds, yet still ambiguous in his loyalties and motives. There was something dangerously interesting -- dangerously attractive -- about that ambiguity. Something attractive about the danger itself.

Mulder didn't want to be interested or attracted, so he kept trying to tuck thoughts of Krycek into some far away corner of his brain. The problem was that no corner was far enough to make him forget the brief touch of Krycek's lips on his skin, or the strange sense of desertion he'd felt when Krycek had walked out his door.

_And if he hadn't, what then?_ There were logical, practical answers to that question. And there were the disturbing, alluring alternatives that his dreams relentlessly tormented him with.

The sun set in a brilliance of orange and vermillion while Mulder fell asleep in the chair, feet propped up on the air conditioner.

\-----

They were kissing. Slowly and sensuously and those lips were so warm and soft and Alex thought he could do this forever, he wanted to drown in that kiss.

And then he felt it.

Pulling away from his tissue and bones, rising within him to seep out through his pores. Flooding his ears and nose and eyes to escape. Finally, pouring into his mouth and slithering over his tongue, seeking the haven of their kiss.

Mulder's eyes opened wide in surprise. Black clouds swirled beneath the corneas. Alex watched, fascinated. They were linked together now. Possessed. It was beautiful. Their bodies entwined, liquid blackness coiling under their skin and filling them. Horrifyingly beautiful.

=Beep!=

Alex Krycek jerked awake, face down in a wad of pillows. _Damn._ He hadn't meant to fall asleep like that. He reached for his gun on the nightstand, shaking off the remnants of his dream, and peered back over his shoulder.

"Oh. Sorry, honey. It's just my beeper," the large, chocolate-hued hooker said. She stood at the foot of the bed and frowned at her fluorescent green pager as its message flashed by. She looked up and smiled apologetically at him, stuffing the pager into her huge purse and grabbing her white faux-leather jacket from the chair. "I gotta go."

Krycek blinked. Ginger, that was her name. "Sure thing," he said, setting his gun down. Ginger grinned and leaned over to playfully smack his ass through the blanket.

"You got my number," she said.

He winked at her. "Sure do."

Ginger hefted the purse over her shoulder, said goodbye with an answering wink, and left. Krycek rolled onto his back and listened to the quiet, barely audible sounds of the hotel around him. Water in a drain. Somewhere down the hall, an ice machine. Outside, a car entering the parking lot. On the floor above, a muffled conversation between a man and a woman accompanied by the steady drone of a late-night talk show. He could pick them all out and name them. It was better than listening to his own heart beating.

Real silence was being hundreds of yards underground, in a concrete silo, in the middle of nowhere.

He stretched and reached to scratch his right underarm. A perfectly normal, routine habit. _Damn._ Those were the slip-ups. The little things. Movements people made a hundred times a day and never registered. It didn't seem possible that there could be a moment when he would forget he had no left arm, but there it was. Some stupid little move like a scratch and he tripped up. _Pathetic, Alex,_ he told himself. _Pathetic._

Across the room, on the chair, was his prosthetic arm, discarded last night. He regarded it with mingled loathing for its ugly falseness and appreciation for its mundane usefulness. Ginger hadn't batted an eyelash when he took it off. A real pro. He liked that in a hooker.

He might call her again, especially since it seemed he was doomed to a lifetime of Mulder dreams. Just erotic enough to make him hard, just disturbing enough to make him a restless sleeper. It figured. Mulder had spent the length of their partnership trying to ditch him. Now Mulder was spending the length of their enmity haunting him.

Although, to be fair, Krycek had to admit that if it was a haunting, he had opened the front door and placed a neon sign out front: 'Spooks welcome.' Thinking over various means of exorcism, Krycek slipped back into sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, it was 87 degrees already, according to the Weather Channel. Krycek sighed. All of his clothes were cold-weather clothes: black jeans and shirts, leather, gloves. Hot weather wasn't conducive to the assassin's code of dressing dark and blending in with the shadows. While he considered the wardrobe options for his latest job, he flicked through the channels aimlessly until something caught his eye.

"...like a mass grave," the CNN reporter was saying as pictures flashed of things barely recognizable as bodies. Krycek sat up. An image appeared of the scene where the bodies were found: the tennis courts at Carnegie-Mellon. _Oh, shit._ It had happened already.

\-----

"Mulder?"

Mulder opened his eyes and stretched. Various bones realigned themselves loudly, and he winced as his leg muscles woke up. It was morning already. Scully was staring down at him in concern. He looked at himself, in his swimming trunks and robe, realized he'd slept all night in the chair, and wondered if Scully might have good cause to be concerned.

"Jet lag?" he hazarded, standing up and stretching again. Scully set some papers down on the desk.

"I have the preliminary analysis," she said.

Mulder was picking out a suit while his brain whispered the "I need caffeine" mantra, but he managed to ask, "And? Anything?"

"Not much," she sighed, sitting down on the bed. "If it was an acid, it's a previously unknown compound. The other likely explanation is some sort of biological infection or biochemical. But again, not one we know about."

Mulder went into the bathroom to wash and change, keeping the door ajar. "Would a virus or infection work that quickly without leaving traces of contamination?" he called out. He looked at himself in the mirror, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw, and noticed some red blotches on his cheeks and nose.

From the other room, Scully was saying, "That's why we think it was an acid or a new, advanced biochemical. Right now, we're running the results to see what we're left with. If it was something that attacked a certain chemical or tissue in the body, we should be able to tell."

Mulder finished dressing and returned to the room, sitting down next to Scully while he put on his shoes. He could tell she was watching him.

"I'm surprised at you," she said. "No theories about aliens testing on humans or mutation experiments gone wrong. No legend of the Body-Melting Man of Carnegie-Mellon."

Mulder shrugged. "I'm surprised at myself. What can I say? If it's not an X file, I can't make it into one." Before she could argue that point, he turned to her and asked, "Does my skin look blotchy to you? Some kind of infection?"

Scully examined his face, then firmly pressed a finger against the tip of his nose. She pulled it away and pronounced, "Sunburn."

She got up to leave and Mulder grabbed his jacket. "You better hope it's sunburn. If you find me melted into a blob..."

"If you keep the air conditioning cranked this high, I'm more likely to find you frostbitten," she commented as she opened the door.

\-----

They had tried to seal off the central campus by putting up concrete and barbed wire barriers, blocking off Forbes Avenue, and stationing policemen at the main entrances, but Krycek soon found an unguarded side street and a way through the barriers. Someone had already moved them just enough for a person to slip through the gap. When he had edged himself through, he heard two voices, not far away.

"This is creepy," a guy's voice said, and in answer, a girl's giggle and urgings to go on. Krycek let go of his gun and let it slide back into the plastic tool case he was carrying. He caught sight of the other two trespassers. Typical undergrads.

He pulled out the fake forensics lab ID and clipped it to his shirt, then strode purposefully toward the tennis courts. Policemen were walking around, nominally patrolling the campus, but no one stopped him, proving the validity of the trespassers' code: as long as you look like you know what you're doing, you can go anywhere.

For some reason, the idea that Mulder and Scully would be called to this case hadn't occurred to him. Krycek stopped at the top of the steps and looked down, cursing himself for not anticipating this. There was no mistaking the tall, slender man whose body managed to make a drab business suit look like Armani, or the petite red-head wearing latex gloves and picking up crud with oversized tweezers. _Bodies melted into globs. Right up Mulder's alley, you idiot._

Neither had spotted him yet. Krycek casually stepped back and walked a few yards away from the sunken tennis courts, considering his next move. His plan had been to blend in with the forensics team, examine the courts for any leftover evidence, and go back to the lab to take a look at the bodies. No way could he blend in with Mulder and Scully there.

He decided to wait it out. It was life-threateningly hot, hot enough to make him rethink black as today's wardrobe statement, and if he stayed outside, loitering with intent, he was probably going to blow his cover. No choice but to break into a building and watch from there.

Fortunately, the buildings had crappy locks and were mostly empty. It was only about five degrees cooler inside, though. Krycek found a window on the fourth floor that overlooked the tennis courts and sat down, untucking his shirt to wipe his face.

It took a few hours, but at last Mulder and Scully left, with a few other investigators, while enough were left on the scene that Krycek knew he could carry on. Some more city detectives arrived, too, bettering his chances of blending in among the confusion.

His plan worked, but nothing was panning out. Any useful evidence had been cleared away from the scene already, and now, as he peered at the lumps of victims left on metal tables in the lab, he realized that the bodies weren't going to tell him anything, either. Nevertheless, he scraped some tissue into a glass vial, just in case, before leaving the lab. He found an empty office nearby and ducked inside to sit down and think about his options.

Something had gone wrong, and triggered a literal meltdown. Without contacting certain people, Krycek couldn't be sure if this was an accident or an attack. But he was reluctant to make that contact just yet. What if it _was_ an attack? Why hadn't they contacted him?

Almost unwillingly, he thought of Mulder. Mulder was already investigating, so he must have known something. Must have had some idea. Goddamn Mulder.

Although, on another level, he was almost pleased that he'd be working with Mulder again.

\-----

When Krycek had traced and trailed Mulder back to the same hotel that he, himself, was staying at, he wanted to laugh. What were the odds? Ironic justice. Mulder would appreciate that. Krycek wished Scully would disappear for a while, though. He wasn't too eager to run into her again. Mulder always faced him with blatant, violent anger, which Krycek could appreciate, and which was stimulating in an unnerving, animalistic way. But Scully... Scully's reception was always cold and cautious. She looked like she knew all his secrets, which in itself was one unbelievably scary thought.

He sat in a dark, quiet corner of the hotel bar and watched them sitting up front, having dinner and going over notes together. He felt a ridiculous pang of envy; he and Mulder had never sat huddled so close together, talking shop and stealing french fries from each other's plates. _A little late for that now._

As he nursed his beer, Dick and Jane FBI Agent finally split up. Scully took the car keys and left the hotel, and Mulder went upstairs. Krycek finished his beer, but not quite soon enough. Before he could follow Mulder to his room, Mulder was back downstairs, in a robe. Curious, Krycek shadowed him to the pool, and found a bench half-hidden behind a fake plant from which to watch.

The pool was almost deserted. Mulder took off his robe and headed for the diving board. _Ah, those red Speedos. Now that brings back memories._ It was very surreal, hiding and watching Mulder swim, thinking of the past and the present, wondering if Mulder would finally kill him this time.

Mulder swam for about three-quarters of an hour, taking short breaks. His heart didn't seem in it, somehow. Krycek supposed it was the pool. Not up to Olympic standards, not by a long shot. Even so, Mulder made swimming seem such an inviting activity. He swam well, made it look so easy and natural. Krycek tried to imagine joining him in the pool. Tried to feel the cool of the water, the warmth of Mulder's body. Floating together...

Krycek shook himself from his fantasies. He couldn't swim. Even if he'd ever learned how, he doubted he could have managed it with the false arm. Besides, if he were to join Mulder in the pool, Mulder would surely recognize the golden opportunity to drown him.

Mulder climbed out of the pool and put on his robe. He had a towel, which he rubbed over his hair and slung around his neck. Krycek watched him go, then followed. He already knew which room Mulder was in, but as he slipped down the hallway, he tried to decide how to get inside. The most direct approach -- knocking on the door -- would probably work, but it seemed awfully risky.

When he got to the room, however, he discovered that fate had helped him out. He could hear the shower running, and when he tried his skeleton key-card, the door unlocked. He opened it carefully, very pleased that Mulder hadn't bothered to turn the deadbolt or use the chain lock. Once inside, Krycek remedied this situation and made himself at home, stretching out on the bed. Mulder in the shower. It was almost too good to be true.

\-----

Mulder stayed in the shower a long time, scrubbing the film of chlorine away. Hotel pools sucked. But it had felt good to swim, anyway. It had cleared the fog from his brain a little, and as he stood under the pulsating water, he ran through the details of various X-files, searching for a link to the melted bodies.

Melt. Burn. Burn without fire. Word association games that kept failing to connect to a supernatural case. And why the tennis courts?

Frustrated by the lack of an answer, Mulder turned off the shower, dried himself, and went back into the bedroom. He stopped at the foot of the bed and stared. Alex Krycek was lying on the bed, completely clothed in black, seemingly asleep. For a moment, Mulder just stood there, not believing what he was seeing. It was too much like a certain dream... Nightmare, he quickly corrected himself.

Mulder was just about to get his gun when Krycek opened his eyes and sat up. Either he was the lightest sleeper in the world, or he'd been awake the whole time. They stared at each other, not moving, and Mulder again questioned the reality of the situation.

Then Krycek spoke. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered; then his eyes widened and his face flushed with color, as if he'd just said something he didn't mean to say.

_Beautiful?_ Mulder's self-awareness returned in that instant. He was naked. Horrified, embarrassed, angry, and slightly but disturbingly turned on, he quickly turned away and grabbed the first article of clothing within reach: a shirt. Common sense patiently explained to him that the shirt would not cover nearly enough skin if worn as a shirt, but he was too rattled to think of alternatives. He pulled it on and buttoned it up, then stood there, glaring at Krycek, who looked just as rattled.

The air conditioning was on full-blast. As it blew on his bare legs, Mulder realized exactly how little the shirt covered. Krycek had already noticed; his gaze was levelled at where the shirttails ended. Again Mulder felt the same amalgam of horror, embarrassment, and anger, only this time there was a more discomforting level of turn-on.

Trying to brush that aside, Mulder snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?" at the same moment Krycek said, "Christ, Mulder."

"Well? Answer me, you son of a bitch."

Krycek didn't answer. He moved his lingering gaze up, met Mulder's glare, cocked his head slightly, and gave him a dangerously sexy smile. Mulder clenched his jaw.

_If this isn't a nightmare, I'm going to have to kill us both._

"Mulder," Krycek murmured, sounding pleasantly surprised. "You're getting a hard-on."

The denial stuck in his throat. Mulder couldn't really deny what was, unfortunately, only too obvious. Different explanations rushed to mind: an adrenaline rush, a deep-rooted exhibitionist tendency that had nothing whatsoever to do with the present audience, a rare physical dysfunction. He had to think fast, choose one that sounded convincing. Anything but the truth.

Mulder wasn't thinking fast enough. Krycek slid along the bed, getting closer and closer, saying, "Why, I never knew."

_No, no._ This wasn't a dream, this wasn't a fantasy.

Krycek had reached the foot of the bed, where he was within touching distance. Mulder stepped back and finally let his survival instincts take over. His gun was on the desk. He seized it and aimed it squarely at Krycek's forehead.

"I said, what the hell are you doing here?" he repeated.

Krycek smiled smugly at him. "Go ahead. Shoot."

Mulder didn't know whether to be appalled or exasperated. He tightened his grip on the gun, then paused. There was something suspicious about that smile. Mulder checked the clip. Of course. He should have known. Efficient bastard.

If Krycek hadn't chosen that moment to laugh, Mulder might never have whacked him with the empty gun.

\-----

Mulder sat in the chair, now wearing pants, and only very marginally turned on, and watched as Krycek came to. The whack hadn't been that hard, but it had left a nasty bruise and cut along Krycek's left temple, and some blood had trickled down and dried on his cheek. Actually, Mulder had been surprised that Krycek passed out. Just for a few moments. Long enough.

"Are you back?" Mulder asked. "Good. Now, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Fuck you," Krycek muttered, wincing and trying to stand up from the floor. He was yanked down abruptly as the handcuffs caught against the bedframe. He sat down with a thunk and shot Mulder a malevolent glare.

"All you have to do is answer me," Mulder said calmly. Then he reached across the desk and picked up Krycek's gun. "Recognize this, tovarich?"

Krycek's glare became more lethal, but he didn't answer. Mulder sat back, set the gun aside, and wondered how long they could play this game before it became boring.

Apparently not too long. Krycek said, "All right. I'll tell you. I was going to tell you, anyway, before you decided to prove your manhood, you asshole. But first, you tell me something."

_Game doesn't work that way._ But despite himself, Mulder asked, "What?"

"Why did you get hard?" Krycek squirmed to sit up a little more. "I'm not winding you up. I just want to know. Was it me? Was it the circumstances? A fluke?"

He seemed serious. Mulder considered answering, and to his own shock, actually toyed with telling him the truth. For some reason, sharing the truth with Krycek gave it an added dimension of interest. Sharing your deepest, darkest secret with your enemy, because he understood.

Mulder decided not to answer him, not yet. "Why did you call me beautiful?"

The color rose in Krycek's cheeks again. He was embarrassed, which made Mulder feel uncomfortable, rather than exultant. Mulder didn't think he would answer, but Krycek said quietly, "Because you are."

Krycek gazed at him steadily, and Mulder found he couldn't look away. _So are you._

Silence then, because Mulder couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud. Not in his wildest, most disturbing fantasies, not even in his nightmares, had he ever imagined having this particular conversation with this particular person.

"Is that why you kissed me?" Mulder finally asked.

Krycek half-smiled and shifted, trying to move his right arm to a more comfortable position. "No. That was just a mind-fuck." He paused, looking down at the carpet, then said uncertainly, "Well, maybe. You know, I don't know."

Mulder watched him. He felt the urge to go get a cloth and wipe the blood away. _Where did that come from?_

"I thought it was just a mind-fuck, myself," he offered.

Krycek leaned his head back against the bed. "Yeah, you would. It fits my profile better, I guess."

Mulder smiled. "Speaking of which... Your profile says you never go someplace and risk exposure unless you have a damn good reason, and that brings me back to--"

"--why the hell I'm here," Krycek interrupted with a quick grin. "You know, maybe I'd feel more inclined to tell you if you'd let me out of these cuffs and bring me an aspirin."

"You're in no position to negotiate terms," said Mulder, still smiling. "Something I'd think would be blatantly obvious, even to you."

Krycek shook his head a little. "You're discounting your own insatiable curiosity, but okay, I'll play along. Can I at least have an aspirin? Some prick hit me with a gun."

\-----

Mulder actually brought him two aspirin tablets and a glass of water. And, since his arm was chained to the bed-frame, Mulder had what Krycek was certain was the dubious pleasure of placing the aspirin on Krycek's tongue and holding the glass to his mouth so he could drink. Krycek expected Mulder to move away after that, but instead Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, waiting for his answer.

Krycek leaned back against the bed. His head was killing him. If he could ever erase from his consciousness the sublime bliss of seeing Mulder naked and interested, he'd have to kill Mulder for bashing him with the gun.

But that consciousness erasure was unlikely to happen any time soon. Even now, just the glimpse Krycek was getting of Mulder's bare feet and ankles was reminding him of the rest of that gorgeous body. Long legs and flat stomach and lean hips and... oh yeah, very nice cock. Especially when perky.

Krycek swallowed hard from the pain drumming in his skull and the extreme discomfort of his erection trapped inside his jeans. His agony must have shown on his face, because Mulder gave him a sympathetic look and reached for the glass. Instead of offering him a drink, though, Mulder dipped his shirttail into the water and reached out. When it wouldn't go far enough, Mulder unbuttoned his shirt and lifted the moistened fabric to Krycek's temple, dabbing away at the dried blood.

Krycek stared at Mulder's chest. The soft hairs there... the small, tempting nipples... Mulder touching his face so tenderly... Krycek twisted away. "Jesus, Mulder, would you stop that?"

Mulder sat back and stuffed his shirttail into the glass again, pulled it out and wrung some of the bloody water out. "Why? Oh."

Krycek glanced over. Mulder's eyes were focused on Krycek's crotch. Krycek tried to edge further away, but the damned handcuffs kept him pretty much trapped. This was too much. How could your dreams and nightmares come true at the same time?

"Okay, okay, okay," Krycek said quickly. "I'll tell you why I'm here." Anything to keep the conversation away from hard-ons.

Mulder lifted his gaze and waited. Krycek tried to detect a hint of gloating, but if it was there, it was too subtle for him to catch. "It's those bodies you found. I saw it on the news. I need to know if they were hybrids or not. Tell me what you know, and I can help you."

"Help? You?" Mulder scoffed.

Krycek couldn't really blame him, but it was still annoying. "All right, I'll tell you what I know. But I still need to know if the bodies are human or hybrid."

Mulder gave him a cautious, assessing look. "The DNA tests aren't done yet. Was this some kind of experiment on alien-human hybrids?"

"Maybe." When Krycek didn't elaborate, Mulder's look took on a colder, potentially violent aspect. Krycek decided that either way, he was in trouble here, and telling Mulder everything wasn't going to make much difference in the grand scheme of things.

"There were experiments being done," he continued. "Here, in Pittsburgh. It was thought that if a chemical compound could be found to break down alien-human hybrids, the same compound could be refined to break down just the alien elements."

Krycek paused, but Mulder just nodded for him to go on. "This was beyond top secret. Practically no one knew about it. So exchanging information about the progress of the experiments was risky. Well, you know what it's like. Nobody trusts anybody else, and then someone gets to thinking, 'If they can get the compound to attack alien elements, what's to stop them from getting it to attack the human elements, too?' That's why I'm here. I was supposed to break into the lab and steal a sample."

"Then you saw the news and wondered if the compound had already been tested," Mulder said.

Krycek nodded. "The thing is, I don't know if this is an accident, or if this was planned. And either way, it's not good. Someone dumped those bodies in a public place. To cause hysteria or to draw attention away from the next step, who knows."

Mulder drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. "You're telling me the truth." He sounded a little surprised.

Krycek cocked his head. "You know what I think about the truth. But, yeah, I'm telling you what I happen to know."

"Why? Why help me?"

Krycek had to laugh at this. "Because I thought you already knew what I wanted to know. I thought you'd be helping me."

Mulder smiled. A genuine, pleased smile. It almost took Krycek's breath away. An uncomfortable silence arose. Mulder's smile faded and he looked down at the floor.

"So," Mulder said. "Why were you hard?"

\-----

Mulder already knew the answer. It was, after all, the same answer he had for the same question: he was turned on. Neither of them had asked the real question yet: why were they turned on? Maybe they hadn't asked it because they didn't have any answers for that one.

He couldn't explain it to himself satisfactorily. There were instances of mutual attraction between enemies, he knew, but ever since the night Krycek had broken into his apartment, given him useful information, and kissed him, Mulder had to hesitate before calling Krycek an enemy. Certainly not a friend, no... Nemesis, perhaps? He'd spent a long time hating Krycek, and part of him still did. There were things Krycek had done which could never be erased. But hate was too simple an emotion for their complex relationship, Mulder had found. That damned kiss on the cheek had proven that.

And if it hadn't, the twists and turns this evening was taking were certainly proving it. _He called me beautiful._ Mulder couldn't even begin to catalogue how that made him feel.

Krycek was looking at him. Mulder glanced up and returned the look, wondering what kind of smart-ass answer he was going to get. But Krycek seemed determined to stay on the path of truthful responses, at least for tonight.

Krycek said, "Because I want to fuck you so badly I can barely breathe."

_Oh._

_Christ._

Krycek saying "fuck" made Mulder's balls ache. The entire sentence, and the obvious vehement sentiment, made Mulder's cock hard. He hugged his knees together and rocked slightly.

Krycek watched him with interest. "And why did you get hard?" he murmured, and Mulder was sure Krycek knew just how sexy he sounded.

"I don't know," Mulder said, adding as the disappointment began to show on Krycek's face, "But I like your answer better."

Krycek smiled at him and slid as close as the handcuffs would allow him. "What about now?"

"What_ about_ now?"

"Are you hard now?" Krycek asked quietly.

Mulder felt his cheeks grow hot. He wondered if the blush would show through the sunburn. Krycek's eyes glinted. Apparently so.

"Are you?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Krycek whispered, cranking Mulder's excitement up another notch. A tremor raced up his spine, and the heat that had flushed his face spread through his body. He swallowed a breath.

"Do you want to see?" Krycek whispered. Mulder had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from moaning. "Undo the handcuffs and I'll show you. I'll do anything you want."

Mulder stared into Krycek's eyes. _Anything?_

\-----

_Uh oh._

The words "anything you want" had just slipped off his tongue like that. So easily. Now Mulder was giving him that look... Oh, that look. Krycek had never seen Mulder look so avaricious before. He just might do_ anything_ for that look.

Mulder moved closer, and Krycek helpfully offered his chained wrist up, but undoing the cuffs wasn't what Mulder had in mind, apparently. Not just yet. Mulder touched Krycek's face with both hands, long fingers tracing Krycek's brow and nose and cheekbones and, finally, his lips. Krycek tilted his head and bit one fingertip. Mulder kept his finger there, in Krycek's mouth, and looked, if anything, even greedier. Hungrier.

Krycek felt dizzy. Mulder _touching_ him... There were no words, in any language, to describe the rush it gave him. He chewed on Mulder's finger, wondering where that throaty moan was coming from until he realized it was coming from him.

Mulder pulled his finger free and reached into his pants pocket. He was breathing harder, and his voice was shaky as he asked, "This is just sex, right?"

Krycek looked into his eyes. Just sex? Was it just sex to want to devour a man who hated you, to crawl into his skin so deep you never came out? Just sex to want to dive into him, swim in his senses, and ultimately drown?

"Just sex," he agreed, and Mulder unlocked the handcuffs.

As soon as he was free, they were grappling with each other, yanking each other's clothes off, touching whatever skin was exposed. Krycek unfastened his prosthetic arm and tossed it aside.

"Oh my god."

Krycek glanced up. Mulder was staring at him, eyes wide, alarmed. _No. Please, no. This is **Mulder**, not some whore. Don't let this scare him off. No._ Krycek sat up straight, resting his hand on Mulder's thigh, while Mulder examined what was left of Krycek's arm. Mulder cautiously touched the scar tissue.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No. Not any more." Krycek watched Mulder, afraid to move. "Look, I know it's ugly, but that... thing... gets in the way. I can put it back on..."

He trailed off. Mulder was running his fingers over the remaining flesh, along his shoulder then down his side. He seemed fascinated by it. Krycek exhaled a deep breath.

_You're even more of a sick fuck than I am._

"It doesn't gross you out?"

Mulder paused, meeting his look. He let his fingers drop lower, smoothing along Krycek's ribs. "No, I was just thinking..." He smiled, looking embarrassed. "It doesn't matter. I'm not grossed out."

It did matter. Very much so. But Krycek wasn't going to press his luck. He slid his hand up Mulder's thigh until he could touch Mulder's balls. "Let's get on the bed. I don't feel like getting any carpet burns, do you?"

Once on the bed, their touches became more insistent, more demanding. Krycek was about to risk a kiss when Mulder put his lips to Krycek's right nipple and sucked on it. Krycek bit back a moan and ran his fingernails down Mulder's back. Mulder's fingers were expertly teasing Krycek's balls and cock, turning his hunger into a desperate ache. If they didn't fuck soon...

_Fuck? Fuck._

With a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer, Krycek dug his fingers into Mulder's hair and whispered, "Do you have lube? Condoms?"

Mulder looked up, not needing to say anything, because the blank look on his face said it all. Krycek eased Mulder's head back down and Mulder resumed sucking. Of course, Krycek had everything they needed back in his room, but if they stopped now... Too much of a risk. He had Mulder naked in bed with him. He wasn't about to tempt fate.

\-----

They weren't going to fuck. Mulder was disappointed for a split second -- why was he never prepared for these things? -- but the disappointment disappeared as he crawled over Krycek's body, jerking him off and watching him writhe. They were naked, they were touching, and his mind was broadcasting about a hundred other things they could do.

Krycek squeezed Mulder's ass, kneading and rubbing. Mulder hummed in his throat and undulated over him, tightening his hold on Krycek's full, gloriously hard cock. Krycek squirmed and shifted, urging Mulder down with his hand, until they were on their sides, tangled together. Mulder felt their cocks touch and arched closer with a breathless groan. Krycek's skin was burning hot, strong muscles flexing as he moved, pushing them together. Heat, lips, hair, flesh -- everything that Mulder could touch and taste, he did, and in return Krycek's hand and lips and teeth and chest and cock and legs covered his body.

Just sex? Not in a million years. But, oh, it didn't matter, did it? Not now. Not ever...

He could feel Krycek's heart beating faster. It reverberated with the rhythm of his own pulse, a driving beat in his head, veins, lungs, and cock. So fast, so hard, echoing throughout Mulder's body until he started to thrash and thrust with it. Krycek gripped his ass and held him painfully tightly, grinding into his thrusts. Rough and tender at the same time. It was exquisite.

Mulder dove into the swirling pool of sensation and immersed himself in the ecstasy that poured through him. He hugged Krycek closer and shared every crashing wave of his release. Krycek wasn't letting him go, anyway. His hold intensified, and Mulder opened his eyes to see the look -- the unreadable, breathtaking look -- on Krycek's face.

Without stopping to consider his motives, Mulder slid his hand around Krycek's neck and pulled him into a deep, thorough kiss. Krycek shuddered as he responded, drawing Mulder's tongue into his mouth and feasting on it. Krycek pushed against him sharply, and Mulder felt the hot, sticky spatters on his belly as Krycek came.

Just sex. If that was just sex, then what was this? Mulder wondered as they lay there, catching their breath, still wrapped in each other's legs and arms. Krycek was rubbing the back of Mulder's neck. The tough pads of his fingertips circled in a lazy massage. Mulder pressed his face to Krycek's chest and inhaled the tangy but pleasing scent of musk and sweat. Whatever this was, he didn't want it to end. Not yet.

"Mulder?"

Mulder moved his face, rubbed his cheek against Krycek's damp, smooth chest, and whispered, "Yeah?"

There was a hesitation. Mulder could feel Krycek drawing breath. "What were you thinking? When I took off the arm?"

_What was I thinking? I was thinking that could've been me. I was thinking how strong your arms and hands were. I was thinking how much I wanted to feel you holding me with both hands._

Mulder ran his fingers along Krycek's side, and traced the outline of a rib with his thumb. "I was thinking... Once I would've wanted that for you. To be maimed, scarred for life."

"And now you don't?" Krycek's fingers ceased their massage.

Mulder looked up. "Seeing that? No. I don't want that for anyone."

Krycek gave a brief nod, then resumed rubbing Mulder's neck. Mulder laid his head back down, rubbed his jaw over Krycek's nipple. He felt a humming vibration in the body beneath him as Krycek spoke.

"It's not so bad. I've gotten used to it. It's no picnic or anything, but, you know, it could be worse."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Mulder tried to fight the sadness that overwhelmed him because Krycek was lying to him about this. And lying so badly. He waited for silence, let the silence surround them and wear away the sharper edges of emotion, then shifted more comfortably and relaxed. Krycek was still rubbing his neck. It felt so good. Mulder fell asleep.

\-----

If he moved, Mulder would wake up. Krycek could just tell. Mulder seemed like the type who'd be a light sleeper. So Krycek didn't move, although he wished Mulder's knee wasn't digging into his leg like that. _Jesus, what bony knees._

Still, all in all, he couldn't complain. He'd just had sex with Fox Mulder. There were not too many things left in life that could be better than that. And it was good sex, too. Good, hot, sticky, male sex. With kissing.

Here his mind tried to shy away from the topic, look for something else to think about, but that was impossible. He couldn't undo the fact that his dreams had just come true. That, no matter what he and Mulder told themselves, this was more than just sex, although how much more, he had no idea.

There was certainly something in that kiss. And in this, now, holding Mulder while he slept. In deciding that he would stay and sleep, too.

He didn't dream that night.

\-----

Mulder woke up with his face in a pillow and a weight against his back. He shifted a little and saw Krycek's arm draped around his waist. Something tickled his shoulder. It was Krycek's even breath as he slept.

_Too bad I can't say I was drunk last night. Or drugged. Or crazy. Well, maybe crazy._

However, try as he might to feel wretched about the whole thing, he didn't. The sex had been too good for that. And it was just sex, right? _Riiiight._

It was morning. Mulder carefully shifted onto his back and sat up, yawning as he checked the clock. He had to meet Scully for breakfast at eight.

Scully. Mulder looked down at Krycek, who looked surprisingly boyish and innocent in sleep. What in the hell was he going to do with Krycek? Somehow chaining him up had lost its appeal, but he knew he couldn't drag him down to breakfast. Scully would know. Somehow, some way, she'd know, and he'd have to face her damning disapproval for the rest of his life. Not that he thought he could escape that fate, but he wasn't ready to meet it just yet.

He should arrest Krycek. That's what had to be done, right? His hands wandered idly over Krycek's back as he imagined calling the local field office, having Krycek hauled off to some jail, or sent to Washington so the government could find an underground bunker for him to rot in, something they'd tried before.

Everything logical and practical inside him told Mulder that this was what he had to do. What he did instead was get up, shower, and dress, and leave Krycek in bed, with a note on the bedside table: "I'm at breakfast. Don't leave."

\-----

Scully was not in a good mood. She looked like she'd had very little sleep, and she greeted Mulder with a "where have you been?"

Mulder checked his watch. He was half an hour late. He joined her at the table and said, "Overslept. You know those damn hotel clocks."

Scully accepted his explanation without comment, although he could tell from her look she didn't believe him. As she turned her attention to her waffles, she pushed a file folder across the table at him.

"They faxed those to me at 6 a.m., Mulder. After I'd stayed at the lab until midnight. I say, if there's nothing here, we're going home today."

Mulder ordered coffee and looked through the faxes. "I think there's something here, though. What if those bodies we found weren't completely human?"

Scully set down her fork and looked up at him. "You're telling me they were aliens?" Her voice had that flat don't-do-this-to-me-Mulder tone.

"Not necessarily. They could be alien-human hybrids."

Scully went back to her waffles. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Mulder, but the lab results don't support that theory. These were perfectly normal human beings, with perfectly normal DNA. Our best guess is that this was some biochemical that leaves no trace, or dissipates in air. The results aren't showing anything unusual, and the local authorities are starting to question our jurisdiction in this case."

Mulder watched her. Although she was, in effect, saying they should give up, he knew she wasn't happy with the results. Her scientific answers weren't satisfying her, but she was reluctant to let him run wild with his alternative theories. They'd done this dance hundreds of times. It was why they worked so well together.

He scooted his chair closer to hers and said quietly, "There's something in these reports that you don't like. What?"

Scully took the folder from him and put it away. "They're doctored."

"What? How? How can you tell?"

She sighed. "That's just it. I can't. There's no way to prove it. On the face of it, they're perfectly valid, acceptable lab results. Nothing's out of place."

"Which is why you think they're doctored."

She turned to him. "You saw those bodies. This isn't a normal case. There should be _something_ there. There should be some clue in the results, and there isn't one."

Mulder sat back, considering what to tell her. He should give her everything Krycek had told him. But that would mean bringing Krycek into this. He had to, he knew... But once he did, it was all over. Then all it really was was just good sex in a hotel room in Pittsburgh.

"Is there anyone at the lab you can trust?" he asked her. "Or some lab where you can run the tests yourself?"

"Why?"

He took a sip of coffee and avoided her gaze. "Maybe I can get you another tissue sample for analysis."

"Mulder--"

"Scully, don't ask me how. I don't even know if I can get it. But if I can...?"

She gave him a brief frown, then sighed. "If you can, I think I can find us a lab."

Mulder smiled at her. He finished his coffee and got up, saying, "You go find the lab."

"I thought you said you weren't sure," she called after him as he left the table.

\-----

Krycek was not all that surprised to wake up alone. He'd slept deeply, untroubled by dreams. Now, waking up, having sex with Mulder seemed distant and unreal. He spotted the note next to the bed, read it, and sat up, wondering what to do. Leaving seemed the most sensible choice. He could find another way to get those DNA results. He didn't need Mulder. Not for anything.

_Except to have sex with. And hold. And be held by._

Now those were thoughts that would get him exactly nowhere. No, he had to leave. Get going while the going was good. Before he had to face Mulder with his goddamned beautiful eyes, delicious lips, quirky humor, seductive intelligence, and sexy body. Krycek didn't move.

Now it was too late. Mulder came back from breakfast, quietly shutting the door behind him and walking into the room, looking at the bed almost reluctantly. _Is he afraid to see that I'm still here, or afraid to see that I'm gone?_

Mulder sat down on the foot of the bed. "You're a heavy sleeper."

Krycek shook his head. "Not normally. I think it's this heat."

"Yeah. The heat." Mulder was staring at him. Krycek stared back. If this was Mulder's usual morning-after routine, he could see why Mulder didn't get too many dates.

Krycek got out of bed and started to get dressed. Mulder watched him, no doubt morbidly curious to see how he managed with the fake arm, and said, "I need a tissue sample from the scene. One that hasn't been tested yet. Think you can get me one?"

Krycek paused in putting on his shirt, then continued neutrally, "If I can, what's in it for me?"

Mulder flashed him a smile. "I knew it. You were there, weren't you? What did you do, pretend to be campus security? FBI?"

Krycek inwardly sighed. How could Mulder make these lucky guesses? "You haven't answered my question."

Mulder shrugged. "You want to know if the victims were hybrids. I need an untainted sample to tell you that."

So. They'd already interfered and given Scully fake reports. That in itself told Krycek practically everything he had to know. On the other hand, knowing what was really in that tissue sample could be useful knowledge.

"I can get you a sample," Krycek said. Mulder stood up, made a show of retrieving his handcuffs from the floor, and stuffed them in his pocket.

"How long will it take you?"

Krycek successfully prevented himself from laughing. "Five minutes" was not the answer Mulder should hear. He made a show of thinking it over, then told Mulder he'd meet him back here in an hour. Plenty of time to relax, get breakfast.

\-----

Mulder was on the phone to Scully when Krycek returned with a tissue sample. How he'd managed it, Mulder didn't want to know. Whether it was real or not, he also didn't want to know. But as long as there was the possibility that it was, he was going to have it analyzed. Scully had found a lab on campus where her FBI credentials had opened some doors with few questions asked. She gave him the directions and hung up.

Mulder held up the glass vial, looked at the nondescript fleshy tissue, then put it in his jacket pocket. Krycek leaned against the door frame and asked, "How long will it take?"

"I don't know. We may have some answers by tomorrow. It depends on the lab."

Mulder could tell Krycek was weighing the risk of staying that long against the risk of not knowing what he wanted to know. For a moment, Mulder tried to come up with imperative reasons for Krycek not to leave, then stopped himself. Why did he want him to stay?

Disturbed, Mulder headed out without another word. If Krycek wanted the results, he'd find a way to contact him. That was Krycek's problem, not his.

Outside, the heat blasted him. He was drenched in sweat just from walking to his car. He got inside and jacked up the a/c._ Goddamned heat wave. It's too hot to think._

\-----

Krycek peered out of the window of Mulder's hotel room and watched Mulder drive away. _Now what?_ Mulder hadn't told him to stay, but he hadn't told him to leave. The understood agreement between them, as far as Krycek was concerned, meant that he would stay until Mulder came back with the information he wanted. He glanced back at the room. He could wait here. It had been years since he'd had a day off to vegetate and watch television. It almost sounded appealing.

He had just made up his mind to stay when something caught his attention in the parking lot below. A man in a suit got out from the passenger side of a blue, late-model Ford. The car drove away and he watched it make the same turn Mulder's car had. The man was carrying a metal briefcase, and he walked across the street and sat down at an outdoor cafe, watching the hotel. If he'd had the words 'Hit Man' tattooed on his forehead, he could not have been more obvious, in Krycek's professional opinion.

_The question is, which one of us is the target?_

No point in taking any chances. Mulder had confiscated his gun -- such a quaint, Mulder thing to do -- so Krycek went back to his room to get his other one.

_There goes that quiet day of watching TV._

\-----

Mulder stayed in the lab, despite the fact that he wasn't helping. If he went back, Krycek would be gone, proving how empty their little foray into mutual insanity together had been. Or, worse yet, he _wouldn't_ be gone, and then they'd probably end up having sex again, and Mulder didn't want to think about that too hard.

So he stayed, keeping company with Scully, who was in no-talk, all-work scientist mode, and Gregory, an eager-beaver grad student with bushy hair and a cheesy moustache, who obviously had the hots for Scully. Mulder decided that Scully needed him here to play third wheel, lest Gregory make some rash move like ask her out on a date.

Along with the doctored reports, they had received IDs on the victims. Mulder read through the identification documents and background information the university and local police sent over, although he knew he wasn't likely to find any patterns. When he was finished with those, he sat there, trying not to look too obviously useless, until he dozed off.

He jerked awake with Scully standing over him and saying, "All right, we can go now."

Mulder rubbed his eyes. "That's it? You're done? Already?"

Scully sighed and gave him an exasperated look. "Of course not. It'll take hours for the computer to analyze everything we've collected. But Gregory here--" she flashed a winning smile at Gregory, and Mulder thought, _Scully, you little devil_ "--has volunteered to stay up all night and run the analyses for us."

Gregory blushed and smiled back at Scully, stuffing his hands in his lab coat pockets. "Oh, it's nothing. I would've been up all night anyway, you know. Studying," he quickly added.

Scully turned back to Mulder. "Besides, if I don't get dinner and some sleep, your life won't be worth living," she told him in a manner which left no room for argument.

Dinner? Mulder glanced at his watch. He couldn't believe it was late afternoon already. He nodded good-bye to Gregory and grabbed his jacket, following Scully out. They took their separate cars back to the hotel and split up so they could shower and relax before dinner.

When Mulder entered his hotel room, he caught a fleeting whiff of a familiar scent, but before he could stop and identify it, his attention was drawn to the far corner. Krycek stepped out of the shadows, pulling off his shirt.

_No. Don't do this to me again._ He couldn't be sure if his silent plea was to Krycek, or to his own desire. It was too late to negotiate with his body.

"Come here, Mulder," Krycek whispered, in that rough way he had that made Mulder's gut twist with anticipation. If Alex Krycek ever gave up murder and mayhem, he could have a good career in phone sex.

\-----

_Ah, Mulder. You're so Pavlovian._

The apparent effects of his invitation were gratifying, but Krycek wanted more. Clothes and arm discarded, he slithered onto the bed, watching Mulder follow his every move. He allowed himself to ogle appreciatively as, after a brief hesitation, Mulder stripped and revealed his beautiful, lean body, bit by precious bit.

"I brought supplies," he murmured as Mulder slid onto his lap and faced him, giving him a look so laden with carnal intent that he had to remind himself to breathe. Krycek ran his hand between Mulder's legs and teased his balls with the backs of his knuckles, pleased when Mulder shuddered in response. He leaned back against the headboard and reached for the lube, hoping he wouldn't spontaneously climax just from greasing the tight flesh of Mulder's ass, or from Mulder's fingers carefully wrapping his cock in the condom.

Mulder inhaled sharply and said, "You always come prepared, huh?" His voice sounded shaky.

Krycek flashed him a grin, slipping his fingers free and grasping one round, firm buttock. "Always," he murmured.

Mulder inched forward, and Krycek thrust up and was in him, and the feeling was too intense. Too incredible. His mind evaporated, unable to register the sensations. Heat and smoothness and tightness and strength. Such strength, holding onto him and demanding and taking. Wanting more. Wanting everything.

Everything?

Krycek gave him everything. Rammed and crashed into him, pushing deeper into the inferno embracing him, moving so hard his whole body jumped against the bed. Everything. Every ounce of desire, of longing, of lust. And, before he could stop it, something terrifyingly like love. He pumped harder, fucked Mulder with furious, angry thrusts, wanting to incinerate any vestiges of caring, of affection. Mulder consumed it all. Kept taking and kept demanding, clutching Krycek's shoulders and riding with him, making rough sounds of pleasure.

Krycek hammered into Mulder's body, watching and feeling his reactions: the planes of Mulder's body shifting as his muscles tensed, the grip of fiery, silken flesh, Mulder's moist lips parting and forming obscene non-words. Sublime beauty and fierce emotions coalesced in Mulder's eyes as ecstasy hit, and Krycek came with him, propelled into shattering light and drenching heat.

The high lasted for what seemed to be several eternities, all spinning in dizzying circles. When the spinning stopped, Krycek felt hot breath blown into his face and blinked his eyes open. Mulder was panting over him, sweat dripping down his skin. Krycek ran his hand down Mulder's back and over his hip.

When Mulder could move, he slid half off of him, settling with languid satisfaction. Krycek sank his fingers into Mulder's hair, rubbing until it was an unruly mass. He drifted on the lingering buzz, effectively keeping the coldness of reality away until Mulder got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Krycek sat up. "Wait--"

_Fuck._

\-----

Mulder stood in the doorway and fought to breathe. Across the tiles lay a man's body, bent into awkward angles, eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. There was a red hole in his forehead, and streams of drying blood drained away from his ears and mouth. Mulder stepped away from the bathroom door.

As soon as the sight of the corpse left his vision, the shock disappeared. He rounded on Krycek. "What the hell's this?! Who is this? What the hell have you done?"

Krycek looked uncomfortable, but said calmly, "He came to kill you."

But Mulder hardly heard him, the fury was exploding inside him. He grabbed Krycek off the bed, holding him by his throat. "You killed him. You killed him and left him in there and then... then we _fucked_ in the next room, you son of a bitch."

Krycek just looked into his eyes, face taking on a placid, cold expression.

"You're a sick fuck," Mulder muttered, and Krycek's mouth twitched into a half-smile.

"You don't know the half of it."

Mulder hit him. Once. Again. Again. Trying to destroy the creature before him, remove it from his life once and for all. He hit blindly, not even aware of where he struck or what he was doing. Then he felt an arm around him, gripping tightly, and a quiet voice in his ear, "Mulder, stop. Stop it. It's okay. I'll take care of everything."

_I almost trusted you. And it wasn't just sex._

Mulder let his hands fall to his sides and blinked. Krycek's nose was bleeding, and there was a bruise across his lower lip, but other than that, he looked unharmed. Mulder was vaguely disappointed. "I hate you."

Krycek sighed. "I know. I know you do. I hate you, too. Now listen to me. Will you do that? Will you listen?"

Mulder nodded silently. Krycek said, "Good," and took a breath. "I saw him come in after you left. Whoever he was with followed you. I waited for him, he broke in with his gun drawn, and I shot him. Gun drawn, Mulder. He came to kill you. You know I'm telling you the truth."

Mulder didn't say a word. His mind was accepting what Krycek was telling him, but his body was starting to feel numb. Krycek continued, "I'll take care of everything, but you have to listen to me."

Krycek reached for Mulder's clothes. "You're going to go to Scully's room and take her out to dinner. You're going to be gone for three hours. When you come back, you're going to stop at the front desk, tell them the air conditioner in your room isn't working, and ask to be moved. When you come back here, your bags will be packed and ready, and the a/c will be busted."

Krycek handed him his underwear and trousers. "I'll be gone. He'll be gone. There'll be no sign. But I need three hours."

Mulder looked down at the clothes in his hand. This was too unnerving. Krycek had killed a man in his bathroom and was now speaking to him as if he were a lost child. Krycek had... He looked up.

"Does death always make you horny?"

Krycek lifted his eyebrows. "No. You do."

Mulder didn't buy that answer at all. Too convenient a response. Horniness was one thing, but fucking in a room next to a dead man... This was one for the textbooks. Except that, try as he might to put a clinical distance on it and label Krycek some practitioner of aberrant sexual behavior, the analysis fell short. Sex with Krycek was about _life_, not death. Hot, earthy, explosive life. It was something he'd let his mind puzzle over later. Right now he had to get out of this room.

He started to step into his undershorts when Krycek caught his wrist. "You have to wash up."

Mulder stared at him. "No way I'm going back in there."

"Mulder. You can't show up on Scully's doorstep smelling like sex, okay?"

_Oh christ. How could I let this happen?_ He needed to call the police, have Krycek arrested and sent to DC, do everything to make sure this never happened. They never slept together. Never.

Except they had.

Mulder clenched his jaw and set his clothes on the bed. Krycek walked past him. "Okay. Stay there." He heard water running, and Krycek returned with a wet washcloth. He shivered as Krycek started to mop it over his stomach, working down, then Mulder grabbed the washcloth.

"I can do that myself. Go get a towel." When Krycek returned, Mulder dried himself and dressed. He looked rumpled, but not like he'd been fucking an assassin. He hoped.

He avoided glancing at the bathroom as he walked out, hearing Krycek say behind him, "Three hours."

\-----

He could have done it in two hours, if he'd still had his left arm. It was times like these...

The plaster around the tiles was a little dark, but it looked like normal wear-and-tear. The body was bundled in a laundry cart Krycek had heisted from the service elevator, Mulder's bags were packed, the air conditioner's wiring had been frayed, and everything was ready to go.

He stood and looked at the room. They'd fucked here. Touched each other, and kissed, and it had been better than Krycek's dreams. But like his dreams, it had ended on a disturbing note.

_Next time, I stick with hookers._

\-----

Mulder couldn't touch his dinner. At his insistence, they had dined away from the hotel, in a small, funky cafe down the street. Pretending everything was all right, that Krycek wasn't in his hotel room trying to get rid of a dead body, that Krycek hadn't given him that tissue sample, that Krycek hadn't held him and made love to him...

Mulder took another drink of ice water and tried to keep his thoughts from straying into that particular topic. Scully was watching him, looking concerned. Just being here and not saying anything was lying to her. Lying to Scully, and for what?

He sat up and pushed his dinner plate to one side, leaning forward. "Listen, Scully--"

He stopped. What had Krycek said? Someone had followed him when he left the hotel. Mulder pulled out his cell phone.

"Mulder? What is it?"

"Number of the lab. Quick."

Scully frowned, but was already picking up her purse. "I don't know it." She left some money for the bill and they hurried from the cafe together, Mulder already certain of what they'd find. Gregory missing, or dead. No samples, no results. No answers.

_All because of him._

\-----

The same annoying woman from the university president's office was standing in the middle of the hallway with two policemen as Mulder and Scully approached the lab. "Why are you here?" she said, obviously unhappy to see them.

Scully showed her badge to the policemen and faced the woman. "What happened?"

The woman started to protest that it was none of the FBI's business, when one of the policemen said, "The lab assistant here, Gregory James, jumped off the Forbes Avenue bridge onto the train tracks, about an hour ago. We're looking for anyone who might have seen him last, anyone who might know him. Was he involved in your investigation?"

Scully and Mulder exchanged looks. "May we go inside the lab?" Mulder asked.

The policeman shrugged. "Sure. There's nothing there, though. We already checked."

They walked past the annoying woman and the policemen and entered the lab. Everything was spotless. No sign of the work they'd done earlier. No vial of leftover tissue sample, either.

_Damn it._ Mulder took one last look around and stormed out. He could hear Scully's heels clacking against the tiled floor as she hurried after him. The door at the other end opened, and a scrawny young man in baggy jeans came in, carrying a large pile of oversized printouts. Mulder slowed as the kid walked past and paused near the lab door.

"Hey," the kid said. "Is something wrong? Where's Gregory?"

Before the cops could overhear, Mulder turned the kid to face him. "You know Gregory?"

"Yeah. He asked me to run this stuff on the mainframe. Said it was really important." He held up the printouts.

Scully looked down at the paper. "May I?" The kid handed the printouts to her. She scanned through the topmost sheets, then glanced up at Mulder, nodding.

Mulder produced his ID badge for the kid. "Gregory's dead. We have to take these printouts for our investigation." He nodded at the cops down the hallway. "You should talk with them."

By this point, the annoying woman had noticed them. She was pointing and saying something to the policemen, who started walking in their direction. Mulder grabbed the printouts from Scully and they rushed toward the door.

"Hey," one of the cops yelled. "You can't take that. That's evidence."

"Contact the FBI in Washington," Mulder called back. "We'll have this in safe keeping."

\-----

Mulder looked up from the report Scully had handed him earlier, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He sat back in his chair and looked around his office, now mostly hidden in shadows. Reduced to numbers, chemical symbols, and trace compounds, the Carnegie-Mellon victims gave little information. All Scully could say for certain was that there were elements present currently unknown to science.

It was enough for Mulder. They had been hybrids, he was sure of it. But there was no proof. No evidence left, so it devolved to speculation, and what Krycek had told him.

Krycek.

Thinking about him was like touching a bruise that was healing too slowly. Everything that had happened in Pittsburgh now seemed like some fever dream, an illusion caused by the heat. In some ways, Mulder wished that was all it was.

In other ways, when his skin remembered the feel of Krycek's body, and he could see in his mind's eye how Krycek looked at him, and hear those whispered words, _You're beautiful_, Mulder wished the dream had never ended.

(the end)


End file.
